


Father Knows Best

by Anonymous



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Incest roleplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Underage Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has an unexpected daddy kink. Tony isn't complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [machinate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/machinate/gifts).



> **Please note the warnings:** while all participants are consenting adults, they are role-playing an incestuous relationship between a father and his teenaged son.

"Listen," Tony said, when Steve cornered him in the workshop and kissed him. Really it was less a kiss and more rubbing up on him like a cat in heat, but Tony had been nursing his lust along for months and wasn't going to complain about Steve making the first move. 

Still, one had standards to uphold, and self-sabotage was one of them. 

"Listen," he repeated, "This is -- you are magnificent and I'm a fool to be saying this, but I'm not sure this is smart."

"Probably not," Steve agreed. He frowned. "Uh, was that a no?"

"It's trying really hard to be a no, for your sake," Tony said. "I'm kind of self-destructive -- "

"Aware."

"And neglectful of those I love -- "

"Yeah, Pepper warned me."

"That cunning...anyway. I am also, I'm just putting this out there, old enough to be your father," Tony said. 

Steve's eyes went dark and kind of...wicked. 

"You are," he said, voice dropping low. "Are you saying you don't enjoy that?"

"Enjoy a much younger man with the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Greek sculpture?"

"Thank you," Steve said, "But I meant the other part."

"Being old enough to be your father?"

Steve nodded. Eagerly. 

Tony gaped at him. "Seriously? A daddy kink? _Captain America_ has a daddy kink?"

"Why?" Steve asked, leaning in. His lips brushed the shell of Tony's ear. "Going to put me over your knee?" 

Tony froze for a moment, then reached up and caught Steve by the ear, pulling him back and away like an errant child.

"Do I need to?" he asked. "You been getting into trouble, Steve?"

Steve gasped, eyes wide, and managed, "No, sir. No, Pop." 

"Are you telling the truth, young man?"

Steve's eyes closed, like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. "Yes, Pop." 

Tony let go of his ear and ruffled his hair. "So you've been a good boy?"

Steve nodded eagerly. "Honest, Pop, I haven't been in any fights or anything."

Tony smiled, thumb rubbing Steve's cheek. "Okay, time out, tell me what you need, here. I am loving all of this, by the way, I just need like, some hand signals or something."

"I don't -- " Steve licked his lips and swallowed, eyes opening. "I wasn't really -- I hadn't thought a lot about it, I was going less for secret fantasy and more for not getting rejected for any sex at all..."

"Take your time," Tony said, as Steve visibly tried to compose himself. "I mean we don't have to _leap_ into the daddy thing right this minute, hot as that was." 

Steve exhaled, nodding.

"You want a Pop," Tony said thoughtfully. "Someone to throw a ball around with? Someone to, what, tell you you've been a good boy? Or is it an only-sex thing?"

"Yes, all of that, but. I want someone to...show me."

"Show you."

"About..." Steve gestured between them, hand lingeringly pointing to his crotch, where the khakis he wore were noticeably bulging. 

Tony made a considering noise. "Someone safe. To explore with."

"Yes," Steve said, sounding relieved. "If that's -- creepy, or -- "

"Well, most fantasies are a little creepy," Tony said, hitching himself up onto his workbench. Seated here he was just a little taller than Steve standing, which was ideal. "Kiddo," he continued, with what he hoped was a paternal smile. "Someone's got to teach you about life."

"Pop?" Steve asked hopefully.

"C'mere," Tony said, gesturing him closer, until Steve was standing just beyond his spread knees. "How old are you now?"

Steve mumbled something.

"Come on, kiddo, I taught you better than to mumble."

"Fifteen," Steve said, a little louder. Tony fought down a groan. So hot, and _so_ wrong. 

"Well, you're practically a man," Tony said. 

"Yes, Pop."

"There's some things you should know before you get any bigger," Tony continued, a little at sea here himself; Howard hadn't exactly been the kind of guy to give Tony the Talk. He'd gotten that from a girl at MIT. Enthusiastically. 

"Like what?" Steve asked. 

"The birds and the bees," Tony said with a grin.

"Aw, Pop, I know about that..." Steve trailed off, blushing. 

"So you know what to do with a girl?" Tony asked. Steve blushed harder. "Or a boy?"

"Well. Not really, but -- "

"Then let your Pop show you a few things," Tony said, and leaned back a little. Steve's eyes flicked down to his groin. Tony grinned and cupped the fabric around his erection. Steve looked away.

"It's fine, kiddo. It's natural to want to compare. You'll be as big as me someday," he added. He leaned forward and Steve grunted when Tony grabbed him through the khakis. "Maybe are already," he conceded, feeling him out. "Everything working right?"

"Pop -- " Steve groaned. 

"Come on, baby boy," Tony said, tugging him closer with his other hand on Steve's belt. "Let Pop teach you about it. Show me your pretty dick, Steve."

Steve's hips jerked a little at that, but his hands went shakingly to his belt, unbuckling it, and then pushing his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them. He pulled his shirt up. 

"Off," Tony ordered, tugging on it. Steve huffed, very like a teenager, and pulled it over his head. He seemed unsure about what to do with his hands, so Tony grabbed them and placed them on his still-clothed thighs, forcing Steve to bow his head over Tony's shoulder. 

"Healthy young man," Tony murmured. "Do you jerk off, kiddo?"

"Pop -- "

"You have wet dreams?"

Steve moaned. 

"Wake up all sticky with come? Bet that's why you have to wash the sheets so much. Or do you rub off on the mattress? I used to do that when I was your age."

Steve made a noise.

"What's that, Steve?"

"In the shower," Steve said. 

"Nobody else ever touched you here?" Tony asked, skimming his fingers up Steve's cock -- swollen and hard, twitching under his hand. Like a teenager, on a hair-trigger. He grasped it lightly and tugged. Steve moaned. "Bet you're pretty heavy-handed. You probably hold it too tight, jerk too fast. Kids your age always just want to come all over themselves."

"Pop," Steve whispered. 

"Lightly makes it last longer," Tony said, hand moving slowly. "It feels good, you want to draw it out. You'd like that, wouldn't you? I'll show you how. Can you open my pants for me, sweetheart?"

Steve fumbled, one-handed, with Tony's fly, the other hand gripping his thigh tightly. Tony kept stroking, using the other hand to toy with one hard nipple.

"I bet I could get you off just playing with your tits," Tony said in his ear, as Steve tried to get his pants open.

"They're not _tits_ ," Steve said rebelliously. 

"Nice and sensitive though," Tony replied. Steve finally got his zipper down and roughly pushed his clothing aside, grabbing his erection. 

"Easy, easy," Tony crooned. "Light, remember? Can you do that? Stroke your Pop off slowly. Make me like it."

"Yeah, Pop," Steve said, hips pushing against Tony's hand. "I can do that, I'll be really good -- "

"I know you will, baby boy. You've always been a quick study. Yeah," Tony added, as Steve's grip loosened and he ran his thumb over the head of Tony's cock. "That's great, Steve, you're doing fine."

"Feels good, Pop," Steve murmured.

"I know," Tony agreed. "See how nice that feels? Daddy knows how to look after you."

Steve buried his face in Tony's shoulder and groaned; Tony could feel how hot his face was, but clearly he didn't care too much, because he was still bucking hard into Tony's touch. His hand on Tony's cock wavered -- it would tighten, stroke hard, and then Steve would remember and loosen his grip and rub lightly, almost teasingly. It was exquisite, inexperienced, _young_ \-- 

"Pop," Steve sobbed against his throat, body seizing up. "Daddy -- " 

Tony kissed his ear and dug his fingernails into Steve's pectoral and Steve came hard, jerking in Tony's hand, gripping Tony's thigh hard enough to bruise. Tony petted him through it, whispering encouragements -- _such a good boy, you learn so quickly, you came beautifully for your Pop_ \-- and then let him go when he heaved a deep breath, shivering. 

"Thank you," Steve whispered, and then without warning he let go of Tony and sank to his knees.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to -- _oh_ ," Tony managed, as Steve sucked the head of his _achingly_ hard dick into his mouth. Steve's eyes on his were adoring, the absolute devotion of a child for his father -- 

Tony doubled over and came hard in Steve's mouth, managing to gasp out "Steve!" as Steve choked a little before swallowing. It felt like he came forever. 

When he thought he might be coherent he straightened up, then nearly came again when he saw Steve standing, thumbing come off the corner of his mouth.

"You took that like a champ," he managed roughly. 

"Thanks, Pop," Steve said with a dreamy smile. He hugged Tony, right there, naked and with come on his thighs. "You're the best," he added, and Tony saw the sincere, adult meaning behind the childlike remark. 

"Glad you think so, because I think it's time for a nap," Tony said. "Go put your pjs on."

Steve's eyes widened. "You mean this?" he asked in a whisper, clearly not meant to be part of his character.

"Yeah, you wore me out, kiddo," Tony replied. "Meet you in my bedroom, you can sleep with Pop just this once."

Steve beamed. "Thanks Pop! I'll be fast!" 

When he was gone, pulling his pants on as he went, Tony looked up at the cameras.

"JARVIS, save that and encrypt it like it's the location of Hoffa's grave," he said. "And order me some baseball gloves and legos and whatever."

"Of course, sir. May I suggest an Iron Man teddy bear?"

"You're a pervert and a genius," Tony told him. "I'm gonna go take a nap with my boy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's Pop cleared a whole day to spend with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions sex in relation to ageplay, but the content itself is entirely nonsexual ageplay.

They didn't spend all, or even most, of their time as Pop and his kid Steve. When they had sex, mostly it was as grown men and equals, which was something Steve had rarely experienced at all and Tony hadn't with men since his wilder days in his early twenties. It was a rediscovery, sometimes awkward, usually funny sooner or later.

And, when Steve did come to him with that _look_ and asked about Pop, sometimes they didn't have sex. That was only a part of what Steve wanted, and a small part at that. Usually they watched a movie, or went for a walk in the park. 

Yesterday had been bad; Steve had come back from a mission with Clint, not Avengers business but a SHIELD job Clint had asked for assist on. Kids had died, was all Clint said to explain it. It wasn't like Clint didn't hate it when kids died, but he was more accustomed to dealing with that than Steve was. Tony had seen Steve's face as he passed through on his way to his floor -- jaw set, unwilling to talk -- and gone to get the baseball gloves. They were new, not yet used, and he'd been saving them for something like this. 

Seemed to be working; he'd let Steve wake up and caffeinate and eat breakfast the next morning, and then he'd barged in like he owned the place, which he did and which was a way parents have. He'd told Steve to get dressed, that they were going to play catch. 

Steve, blinking over his newspaper, had frowned. 

"Tony, I don't -- "

"Come on, kiddo, don't keep me waiting," Tony had said, and Steve had inhaled deeply, set the paper aside, and gone to dress.

Two grown men playing catch in public wasn't that weird, but for the conversations he wanted to have, perhaps inappropriate. Tony had, fortunately, stocked the gym with hologram projectors, and so while the grass and the trees and the Central Park jogging path in the bigger workout room didn't feel realistic, they looked very realistic. Steve had a jaw-drop moment when Tony ran program catch.cp.v2. The sky above them was sunny (it was rainy outside in real New York) and Steve's shoulders relaxed a fraction. 

"Got you this," Tony said, offering Steve one of the gloves, still new-stiff and not broken in. "Time you learned how to throw a baseball."

Steve looked down at it, genuinely awestruck, then at Tony. Tony waited. Steve could, of course, say no; or he could drop into character but make a fuss, and Tony would take him upstairs for a movie. 

"Nine," Steve said, and Tony nodded. A nine year old, he could deal with today. Steve flexed the glove, smiling at its newness, and threw his arms around Tony.

"Thanks, Pop," he said hurriedly, and then ran across the holographic grass, not too far, but ambitiously far for a nine-year-old. Tony took the shiny new baseball out of the gear bag nearby and tossed it up and down. 

"We're gonna start with the overhand throw," he said, lobbing an easy one at Steve. "If you're fielding, you're gonna need to know that one..."

Steve, endearingly given he could have caught the ball, returned it, and taken Tony's hand (or head) off with it, fumbled his first catch.

"It's okay!" Tony called. "Nobody gets it right the first time."

"I got it, I got it!" Steve yelled, chasing it down and throwing it clumsily back. 

"There you go. Hey, listen, you think Babe Ruth or Hank Aaron never errored?" 

"Dunno," Steve said shyly, catching the ball with some effort the second time. "Can you show me a curveball?"

Tony probably could; he'd always liked physics, and he'd had a tutor who used pitching to demonstrate concepts of wind shear and the relationship between structure and environment. He knew more baseball than people usually expected of an MIT graduate. 

"Sure, but let's teach you a long hop first," Tony said. "In case you ever get shoved out into left field, you'll know how to smoke 'em." 

He did teach him how to throw a curveball eventually, curled around Steve, arm flexing with his, then stepped back so Steve could throw a few. He wondered if the actual child, back in Brooklyn in the thirties, had ever learned; Steve had mentioned playing stickball in the street, but he doubted they had a regulation stitched ball to play with. 

"You'll be playing in the pros someday, if you keep that up," Tony said, when Steve landed a fastball in his glove. 

"Yeah? Like the Dodgers?"

"What do you want to play for the Dodgers for?" Tony teased. "The Yankees, now there's a team."

"Pop!" Steve scolded.

"Or the Red Sox, even better -- "

" _Pop,_ " Steve yelled, sounding horrified. Tony grinned. 

They played until noon; it took Steve a while to settle with that, checking his watch every once in a while with a resigned look. It was rare Tony had a large chunk of time to dedicate to anything but SI, but he'd talked with Pepper the night before and apparently he'd been sufficiently unsettled by Steve's behavior to unsettle her, as well. At any rate, it had earned him a day off. Her assistant had dissected Tony's calendar with precision, clearing most of it. He just had to be on a conference call at two, and he had planned for that. 

"Come on, kiddo, let's pack it in," he said, and he saw Steve's expression, complex to interpret -- regret that their day was ending, understanding that Tony only had so much time for him. On the occasions when Howard had cleared his own calendar for Tony, that had happened a little too often for comfort. Tony waited until their gloves were packed away and said, "Lunchtime, huh?"

Steve looked startled. 

"Come on, growing kids gotta eat, and you wore me out," Tony continued, leading the way to the elevator, quietly shutting down the hologram behind them. 

"Oh," Steve said, looking pleased and hopeful. He tugged on the hem of Tony's t-shirt in the elevator.

"What, Squirt, spit it out," Tony said, grinning. Fifteen-year-old Steve _hated_ Squirt; the nine year old would tolerate it. 

"Can we have pizza?" Steve asked in a soft voice. 

"Sure," Tony said, and JARVIS pinged softly to let him know he'd heard and was ordering. "Let's get your hands washed and we'll make a salad to go with it."

Which meant Steve would need to make it, because Tony could burn water, but that was fine. It filled the time until the food arrived, and when it did, Steve reverted to nine, chattering about baseball stats the entire meal, demolishing the pizza while Tony sipped his beer and listened indulgently. Steve's memory was enhanced by the Serum but Tony suspected he'd had a good head on his shoulders even before it. The squirt could rattle off statistics from games he'd listened to on the radio when he was _actually_ nine. 

Tony listened with half an ear, absently making Steve eat salad between bites of pizza as he turned all this over in his head. 

He was still thinking when he told Steve that he was caked in dirt and needed a bath. Steve looked faintly surprised, again, and whined about bathing in general, but Tony marched him through the penthouse to the bedroom and ran a bath while Steve undressed. Once he was in the palatial tub, soaking and letting Tony wash his hair, he was less of a sulky whiner about it. 

Eventually, scrubbed pink (even behind the ears), Steve just sank down to his shoulders in the water and rested his head back against the tile, and Tony watched in satisfaction as the last of the stress in his frame faded away. 

"I have a question," he said, leaning up against the edge of the tub. "Outside of the moment, if you get me."

Steve turned his head and nodded, curious. 

"You always ask for food," Tony said. "And that's fine, that's okay. Feeding you is good. And you don't have to answer this, I won't ask again, but. You didn't always get three meals a day as a kid, did you?"

"No," Steve said calmly. "Sometimes not enough when they did come. Ma did the best she could," he added hastily.

"I'm sure she did," Tony said. 

"Keeping a roof over our head was more important. You can be hungry or homeless-and-hungry -- "

"It's okay, I get it," Tony said. "I've obviously never...I can't say I know what it's like, but I get it."

"Do you mind?" Steve asked.

"No, of course not. I like..." Tony considered how to put this. "Look, I'm not a caretaker by nature, but I like providing. I like to be able to give someone a solid, concrete thing and know it helped them. I enjoy feeding you. It's the best I can offer, sometimes."

"You do all right," Steve said drily. "I didn't expect six hours all to myself today."

Tony brushed Steve's hair back. "You should. I know what that's like." 

"Well, there's the fantasy, and then the reality of our lives," Steve said. 

"Yesterday was hard," Tony said. Steve's eyes darted away. "You did great, kiddo," he added, dropping back into the reassuring framework of father and child. "I know it was hard, but you were perfect, and you deserved a little dad time today."

"Thanks, Pop," Steve said, leaning into the hand on his cheek. 

"Okay, out of this bath, it's nap time," Tony said, grabbing a towel as Steve hoisted himself clear of the water. 

"I'm not _five_ ," Steve complained.

"No, you're nine, which is just old enough to get into trouble when I'm not looking," Tony replied, wrapping him in the towel and using one edge to ruffle his hair dry. Steve finger-combed it as soon as he was done, leaving Tony to briskly dry the rest of him. "I have a conference call at two, so if you're good and sleep through this one thing, we'll watch a movie this afternoon." 

"Fine," Steve huffed, resigned, but he looked exhausted anyhow. The promise of a nap in Dad's big, soft bed in his favorite flannel pajamas, the ones with trains on them, seemed to make him reasonably obedient. Tony helped him into the pjs, buttoning them up for him, and then pointed at the bed. 

"I thought you were going to ask about the mission," Steve said, turning over on his side and curling up a little as Tony tucked him in. 

"You can tell me about it if you want," Tony said. "But I don't think kids really need to worry about that kind of grownup stuff. Do you, squirt?"

"No," Steve said around a yawn, and Tony smoothed his damp hair down. 

"Sleep. I'll be here, I just need to call in to work," he said, and settled in the chair near the window. 

He could see Steve watching him as he put in his earpiece and dialled into the conference call. Steve could probably hear him speaking, but he never seemed to mind falling asleep to Tony talking. By the time Tony was arguing (quietly, but still) with the head of Fabrication about stress factors in the new Starkphone casing, Steve was conked out, breath whuffing softly. 

The discussion turned to other things, less relevant to Tony's work, and he tuned it out, staying on the line in case they had questions but otherwise focusing on Steve. He hadn't expected to enjoy fatherhood as anything other than a fun kink, but he felt deeply, almost painfully protective of Steve -- conscious that the man could more than take care of himself, but enjoying the sense of being entirely responsible for someone and capable of providing what they needed. Everything was so clear, in the moment. He knew what Steve lacked and provided it, a beautifully simple equation. Praise, discipline, food, and attention -- the sum of which could emulate love, whether or not it actually contained love, something Tony was trying not to think about.

The meeting ended after a nearly interminable hour and a half, and Tony took his earpiece out, changing into soft sweats and a t-shirt, crawling under the blankets to lie facing Steve. The boy's eyes fluttered open.

"Pop?" he asked sleepily.

"Yeah, it's okay, Squirt, I'm here," Tony said. 

"Time to get up?"

"Not if you're still tired. Jarvis will wake us for dinner." 

Steve nodded against the pillow, eyes closing again. Tony watched until he was asleep, then closed his own eyes and settled in. He felt warm and content, sure in the knowledge that he'd been a good father today, and that Steve would be better tomorrow because of it.


End file.
